


First Door: Freaky Friday?

by Ganym



Series: Three doors, three choices [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Because he can, Bodyswap, Dark Jack, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masturbation, Pitch in Jack's body using it in perverted ways, Power Swap, but not really sticking to them, probably dub con in that regard, references to the books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-30
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1714496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganym/pseuds/Ganym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of the Minotaur's Labyrinth, in Crete, Jack and Pitch stand in front of three doors. Each one of them will change their relationship and their future. But they don't know that yet. They only know that they have to choose one.</p><p>Three different AUs, one for each door... This is the first one!<br/>(You might want to read "Choose wisely" first.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Still not a native English speaker, so please correct my mistakes!
> 
> Hope you like this first chapter :)

The night was completely still. As if nature itself was trying to listen to what was happening, concentrating hard on the two figures standing in the middle of the Minotaur's Labyrinth. One was dark and lanky, draped in shadows, pacing restlessly on the stone floor, like a caged panther. The other one was shorter, sitting on top of a crooked staff, which miraculously stood upright. He seemed to be calmer, occasionally flicking a strand away from his face. Neither one was talking. Time went on but the night remained as it was, lightless and soundless.

Eventually, Jack jumped from his staff and softly landed on the marble floor. He was starting to get bored. And had noticed that MiM would apparently keep them at the same midnightly hour until they made their choice. He didn't get why Pitch hadn't come to the same conclusion, but he felt that he had to shake him from this trance. Walking in circles wasn't of any help—and it was somewhat ironic, considering they already were at the center of the labyrinth.

“Pitch?”

The lord of shadows didn't react, muttering to himself. Jack sighed and leaned against a wall. What was he going to do? He'd have to wait. And watch. Yes, he could satiate his curiosity—that could be an idea.

Even though Pitch was his enemy, he felt pity for him. When they'd defeated him, he had seen his fear and despair, being attacked by his own nightmares. At least, he seemed to have overcome their hostility during these three years in his lair. It couldn't have been easy. The black sand was tricky and aggressive—like its creator. Tall and thin, almost entirely covered by his shadow-robe, Pitch had a regal charisma that—Jack was loath to admit it—impressed him. His angular face, his pointy teeth, his ashen skin and most of all his silver-gold eyes inspired not fear but a sort of awe in him. But what struck Jack the most was the haunted, lonely look in his eyes. It was that look that had almost swayed him that day at the Pole, when the Boogeyman had offered him an alliance. Two solitary souls, joined together, as brothers—or even more? The words he had said echoed again in his head, as they often did:

“What goes together better than cold and dark?”

Mocking, yet full of a yearning that Jack understood only too well. Not to be alone. He remembered the whole scene all too well. He had accused Pitch of not knowing what it was like, to be him. And the king of shadows had cried out:

“No!? I don't know what it's like to be cast out?”

The crystalline sound of ice against sand, like shattering glass.

“To not be believed in?”

The whiteness of snow, all around them. And then, the dark figure, coming from behind. And Jack had raised his staff, but had not struck. Not because of the Boogeyman's words—he had learned to mistrust them. But because of his expression. So full of emptiness. Devoid of hope. Deprived of love.

“To long for... a family.”

But Jack didn't want to be feared. He wanted to be believed in. And thanks to Babytooth and Jamie, that dream had become reality. He had discovered that he had had a family. That he had saved his sister. That he wasn't as lonely as he thought.

But Pitch. He was lonely. He was alone, save for his nightmares, who were actually part of him. And so seeing him again had been a relief—he was still alive and kicking. Kicking a lot, as a matter of fact. But his solitude hadn't abandoned him. Perhaps the Man in the Moon wanted him to help Pitch. To lead him to the light. Like he had been lead, from darkness to moonlight. The first thing he had remembered from his spirit life had been darkness. It had been dark and cold and he had been afraid. Like Pitch right now.

He sighed. He would have to make things move.

“Pitch.”

No answer.

“Pi-itch.”

The dark lord—haha—was still pacing and muttering.

“Pitch!”

This time he'd caught his attention. Hallelujah.

“Don't you think we should get a move on? Time isn't passing, we're stuck here and now.”

Pitch grimaced.

“I noticed.”

They stared at each other.

“Oh, well then, let's do this logically. First door?”

“First door.”

Together, they went to the door on the left. It was painted with a yin-yang sign, the white part glistening with frost and the black side reflecting the little light there was. As there was no handle, they simultaneously put their hand on the stone: Pitch his right one, Jack his left one, so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Or would have been if the frost spirit had been as tall as the Nightmare Ming.

As their hands touched the stone, light suffused from around it, filling the interstices. The door then opened and a blinding white light swallowed them.

 

* * *

 

 

Jack awoke with a start, sitting up, spluttering and coughing, as if he had been drowning all over again. It was dark and it was cold and he felt the all-too-familiar fear invade his guts. But he wasn't drowning—he was only in complete darkness. His mouth was dry and he felt nauseous. Things were swishing and moving around him. A form of unease crept over him. Something was off. If he only knew what...

He stood up and searched for his staff. It wasn't there. It wasn't there. And still, panic didn't take hold of him. Nor the longing he would have awaited, being separated from his dear staff. He gingerly took a few steps, wishing that everything didn't have to be so full of shadows. Where was Pitch? Where was he? In Pitch's lair? But it didn't make any sense... What had the Man in the Moon done?

“Pitch?”

His voice echoed bizarrely in the darkness, as if it was deeper than usual.

“Pitch?”

Nothing answered his query. The uneasiness worsened. Something was definitely off. Was it his bigger strides? The fact that the shadows still seemed to be the same but that he didn't mind them anymore—as if his eyes had adapted to them? The gentle swooshing of the nightsand around him, not unlike the soft caress of wind on his cheeks when he flew? But here he couldn't feel the breeze. Air was flowing around him, but he didn't have any connection with it. This time, panic started to build up in his chest.

“Pitch?”

Why was he so desperate for his enemy's answer?

“Jack?”

Finally!

“Pitch! Can you hear me?”

A chuckle, so similar to his own, somewhere in the distance.

“Obviously. I wouldn't have answered if I hadn't heard you.”

Jack accelerated towards the source of the voice and arrived in the great cave that was the center of Pitch's lair. So he had been right.

“Pitch? Where are you?”

“Over here.”

Jack lifted his eyes, only to see a flash of light.

“Where?”

His voice boomed strangely in the hollow.

“Here.”

Another white flash.

“And there.”

Silver in the darkness.

“And here again.”

Finally he stopped moving and landed in front of him. And Jack was confronted to his likeness. There, in front of him, stood... himself. White hair, blue hoodie and crooked staff, insolent smile glued to his lips, light-footed, surrounded by frost.

“Wha-”

“I always knew that I was scary, but I didn't know I was so good-looking. Never liked mirrors.”

“Wha-?”

Jack didn't understand why Pitch's words came out of his body, with his intonations and voice. How Pitch could be using his powers.

“Seems that the Man in the Moon decided to help me, for once. Or miscalculated. In any case: have fun taming my mares.”

And with that, Pitch flew off, riding the winds with ease, as if he'd always done it. Jack ran after him, only to see him disappear through a hole that he then ice-sealed shut, leaving the eternal youth to his reflection. Which now was Pitch's.

What was he going to do?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tries to get along with Pitch's nightmares... which proves to be more difficult than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm not really satisfied by this chapter as nothing much happens, but the fun parts will only come too soon :p  
> Hope you'll like it :) And don't hesitate to correct my English if you see mistakes!

Jack paced the lair, his thoughts running amok. What was he going to do? What was Pitch going to do? Round and round he went, like a beast trapped in a cave, not unlike the Nighmare King himself, when they had stood in front of the terrible doors. And Jack couldn't help but wonder: what would have happened if they had chosen another door? Would nothing had changed? Would Pitch have been de facto defeated?

Abruptly, he stopped walking and turned around. One of the nightmares, which had been following him closely, bumped into him and gave an outraged neigh. The other ones snorted. They were all around him, surrounding him, their eyes lit with greed and hunger. Save for that golden glimmer, the lair was only darkness. He hated it.

Pitch had sealed the exit with ice, but that had been an unnecessary precaution. The mares only allowed him little space to move around and blocked his way whenever he tried to approach the tunnel. Or one of the slim openings through which the daylight would probably have come, if it had been day outside. But night was on them and even the reassuring gleam of moonlight was nowhere to be seen. What was the Man in the Moon thinking? Was he now hiding because he had made a mistake? Very mature, really.

Jack met the head mare's look and held it. He wasn't afraid. He was angry. He was frustrated. He was a tad worried. But he wasn't afraid. He didn't fear Pitch nor his mares. So why did they stand in his way? Did they recognize that he wasn't the real Pitch? But then, the spirits of wind and ice would have sensed that Pitch was in his body—and they never ever ever would have bent for him. So these mares were only jealously guarding him, because...?

He had no idea. They hadn't been surrounding Pitch in such a way when he had come to tell him about the Man in the Moon's message, had they? No. Because he had tamed them. But Jack wasn't a forceful soul. He didn't want to tame anyone, anything, even nightmares. Let alone nightmares. 

All of a sudden, he felt a deep surge of admiration for Pitch. He had it in him to tame nightmares. Not just any nightmares. Bits of himself that had rebelled against him. Some kind of multiple doppelgangers which he had managed to vanquish. The mares, like himself, fed off fear. The most afraid of them would have to lose. And if Jack remembered correctly, Pitch had been very much afraid indeed when the Guardians had defeated him. And nonetheless he had managed to gain the upper hand on his mares.

Now. Perhaps he had to see it the other way. How had Pitch managed to use Jack's powers with such ease? There had to be a thing. A trick. Exactly! That sounded more like himself! Wasn't he the Spirit of Fun, after all? As Mary Poppins said—Jack had come to love the unlikely nanny—“in every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun, and snap, the job's a game!”

That was it. Pitch fed off fear but wasn't alien to fun—in his own twisted way. If the mares were a part of him, then surely they could also be humored, right? He had to try. So he started with a silly face. Tripping on his own feet. And then accidentally tripping over Pitch's shadow-cape. Speaking in a squeaky voice. Nothing worked. Nothing, at all. On the contrary, the mares were coming closer, leaving him with less and less vital space. Why?

All of a sudden, Jack realized his worry had been actual fear. And his failures were only aggravating that. He had to change his strategy. He had to stop worrying. Even if Pitch could be doing anything right now. Even if he was trapped in here and couldn't find a way out, let alone adjust to Pitch's powers. Even if he felt completely helpless...

The look in the mares' eyes went from greed to utter hunger—and satisfaction. They were feeding off his fear! They were feeding off him! That wasn't right! They weren't allowed to do that!

Well, if Pitch had managed to joke around with the wind and frost, Jack could handle a few famished nightmares. His anger and frustration became his strength and suddenly there was a whip made of shadows in his hand. He made it hiss and hit a mare. And a second. Shadows and black sand collided, mixed, giving the faintest smell of burnt tires. The mares neighed and gave way. Some of them disappeared, melting with the shadows.

The next hour was actually fun. With the mares respecting him—even cowering before him—Jack was able to ride them, but also mold the shadows as he had sculpted ice. He started to feel at ease in the darkness. The most enjoyable feat was the disappearing and reappearing. He'd love to give Jaime a good fright by appearing under his bed—and then they'd laugh about it for years to come. Nothing to do with Pitch's way of doing things.

Suddenly Jack realized that his taming the nightmares meant he was free to go. Summoning a shadow likeness of his crooked staff he darted to the ice-sealed exit and sent a wave of black sand against it. The ice cracked and broke—too easily. Jack's ice wasn't usually so fragile. Or had Pitch been dampening his own powers? But why? Or perhaps he had only seemed to master Jack's powers with such ease and the ice barrier had been more difficult to create than he'd thought.

In any case, he was free—

No he wasn't.

Toothiana, North, Bunny, Sandy—and himself, or rather Pitch in his body, were facing him, scorn on their faces.

“I told you he was getting stronger and that it would only be a matter of time until he came out!” Pitch said, mimicking his intonations with such perfection Jack himself could have been fooled into believing he was staring at his own double.

“Pitch!” bellowed North. “What are you doing?”

“I assure you, we won't let you carry your plans out!” cried Tooth.

“My what?” Jack was perplexed. What were they talking about?

And then it dawned on him—Pitch had set him up.

“But, I'm not Pitch, I'm Jack!”

“Ha! Nice one! Pity Jack heard of your absurd plan to make us believe you'd swapped bodies”, snarled Bunny. Even Sandy shook his head.

“Just hear me out! This is all the Man in the Moon's doing!”

“How dare you speak of Man in Moon!” roared North. “You know nothing of him!”

“But— He spoke to me and told me I had to go to Pitch and—”

“Just listen to him. He really thinks you'll fall for it”, Pitch slyly said. The others agreed. “Look, he even tried to imitate my staff!”

Angrily, Jack looked at his own staff. It fit so perfectly well in 'his' hands, shimmering with frost. His dear staff. And his friends. How could they be so easily fooled?

And then, he understood. His snowballs could “convince” anyone. He only used them to “convince” people to relax and have fun, but Pitch had warped their power for his own purposes.

His anger and his anguish rose and rose and suddenly the Guardians gave a collective gasp of surprise and horror. Jack turned around only to see that the nightmares were around him—as their master, responding to his feelings. Facing his friends again, he noticed a glimpse of irritation in Pitch's blue eyes. Was he proving stronger than the Nightmare King had expected?

“You—you dare try and intimidate us?” exclaimed Tooth, her wings whirring furiously. 

“No!” he cried, but his voice sounded mocking, like Pitch's. “Never!” Cynical, even. How would they ever believe him? Frustrated, he swung his staff around only to notice that it had become a scythe in his hands, the same one Pitch had almost used to kill him. The Guardians gave a collective gasp and suddenly they were all attacking.

“No! Stop! I don't want to hurt you!”

But they wouldn't stop. His mares however, seemed to understand and only tried to protect him, never assaulting themselves. Each blow pushed him further back until finally he decided to let it go. With a whoosh he disappeared and reappeared far far away from Burgess, far far away from the lair, choosing a cave deep in the Himalayas. He loved going there as the frost would dance so prettily on the subterranean lake. But it also was a good place for him now that he had to dwell in the shadows. Typically a place where cold and dark were joined in perfection.

He sat down on a rock and absentmindedly stroke one of the whinnying mares. Pitch had fed his friends lies and they all believed him. He had even used the snowballs to ensure they wouldn't question him. How could such strong Guardians be fooled so easily? And more importantly: what did Pitch have in mind? And what could Jack do to stop him?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch comes and visit a miserable Jack... to taunt him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait... again!  
> If there are any mistakes, please tell me! :)

Jack was morose. Everything around him was dark and cold. Shadows moved around him, never daring to touch him, but still there. They were worried. They had accepted him as their master as he knew how to bend them, but now all his will had disappeared. He wasn't afraid tough, so they couldn't overpower him again.

He stood up and glared at his reflection in the still pool of crystalline water. Pitch's face leered at him, his scowl tinged with mockery. How could that be? He was definitely not smiling, why would the body he was inhabiting move of its own will?

He blinked.

No, he was imagining things. The expression on Pitch's face—on his face—was one of anger and frustration, correctly revealing his inner turmoil. Even the cool water unnerved him now: he was used to seeing his frost delicately dancing and swirling upon its surface. But now, the pool was perfectly still and black, seemingly bottomless. The once welcoming cave moved and shifted with a thousand shadows. The worst of all was the ominous silence. Jack hated it. When he was himself, he was never abandoned by the wind's whispers, by the ice's lively songs. Here the shadows moved in complete silence, never making a sound. Even the mares refrained from whinnying, probably influenced by his mood. His dark mood.

A humorless laugh escaped his lips.

"What's so funny?"

Jack turned around, to see his body there, a smile dancing on his lips, glee shining in his blue eyes. Oh how he longed for his body! How he wanted it to be his again!

But no. Pitch was inhabiting it, and it was all the Man in the Moon's fault! It wasn't fair, he hadn't done anything wrong! The Man in the Moon was a tyrant, to inflict such a fate on him—being hated by his friends, left alone with fear-eating creatures, never being able to feel happiness or even have fun. It was just plain mean.

He glared at Pitch.

"Me. Here. You. There. Hilarious."

He didn't even recognize his own voice. It was as if he was hearing Pitch say the words he was thinking of.

"Yeah, right? I can't think of anything funnier either. Life is full of surprises. Who would have thought that after so much time the moon would take pity on me and cast light into my existence?"

Once Jack would have felt compassionate joy, hearing Pitch's honest happiness. But not now. Now he only felt anger against the Man in the Moon. And jealousy. He was so jealous of Pitch. Of his friends. Of his happiness. Why should HE have that? He had stolen everything from him. By right, all this was HIS, his and his alone. HE was the spirit of fun, ever there to amuse children and bring joy in their hearts. Deep inside him he still knew he couldn't survive without a children's laughter. He still strove from their sense of fun. But what could he do now with these terrifying powers? You can't make a child laugh with fear.

"Come on, lighten up!"

How dare he. How fucking dare he. This damned thief!

"How can you tell me that? Don't you know what you inflicted on me? Don't you know how horrible this is?"

He gestured to the shadows. A mare whinnied miserably, hurt by its master's words. Pitch laughed. A laugh so pure and sincere that Jack cringed.

"Oh, I can assure you I know everything about it."

Jack turned around, tried to ignore him. He didn't want to attack, even though every tiny bit of his body screamed rage.

"But you don't have to be so gloomy. Darkness is a magnificent realm, once adopted. Ease up a little. Let it flow and grow. You'll come to feel at ease with it. Don't fight it."

Jack held his hands against his ears. He knew what Pitch was doing. He was trying to get him to his cause. To manipulate him. But Jack didn't want to hurt any one. Not even the Nightmare King.

"Oh, Jack!"

He tutted.

"Let me help you loosen up."

Suddenly cold fingers rested on his neck, on his cheek - and icy lips against his. It was a feather-like kiss, sweet and cold, like ice cream.

Stunned, Jack froze, unable to react. Pitch had kissed him. What was worse and even stranger was that it meant he had kissed his own body. Talk about narcissism.

After an instant however he came back to his senses and met Pitch's eyes—curious, mocking, gleeful, even a little seductive... And behind that, something more vicious, like a perverse sense of satisfaction.

But by now he couldn't care any more. His anger had met the breaking point. Shard-sharp shadows leapt from everywhere, aiming for the ice boy. He lightly jumped out of reach, steering himself with the staff.

"Hey, stop it, calm down!"

Enraged, in a berserk-like mode, he struck again. His scythe appeared in his hand, a comforting feeling.

"I just want to talk, stop it!"

The tall man laughed. A dark chuckle, not unlike a villain's laughter.

"That's not what I understood. You just want to throw your life away—what a pity, when it had suddenly brightened up so much!"

The nimble figure escaped yet another attack, still without retaliating.

"Stop it, Pitch!"

He lost control.

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME?"

"Pitch. That's your name, right?"

"No! No, you know it, that's not who I am!"

"Who are you then?"

Who? Who? He didn't know. 

He really didn't know.

He locked eyes with the white-haired boy. It was his fault. It had to be. He attacked.

Suddenly, the ice sprite was back against a wall of the cave, the taller, darker figure pitting him against it with his forearm.

"You tell me."

The blue eyes stared unblinkingly.

"Tell me or I'll kill you."

A shadow dagger appeared in his hand. He lifted it, put it against the boy's pale skin...

And suddenly he was wrenched away from his prey in a flurry of feathers and colors.

"Jack!"

Yes! That was it! That was his name! So why was Tooth bent over the other guy?

"Are you all right, Jack?”

“Yes Tooth, thanks. I tried to reason with him, as promised, but he attacked...”

She turned around, six tooth fairies following her movement.

“Pitch! How dare you! I hope you rot here and never come out again.”

Holding hands, they flew out of the cave, leaving Jack to his misery. Pitch had set him up again and had succeeded, again. Now Tooth would be impossible to convince—and she had been the only one amongst the Guardians he'd have had a chance to convince. Pitch was horribly cunning.

By now, Jack had however understood a few things. Pitch was trying to gain the Guardians' faith—and he was going to do something terrible to them as soon as he'd have enough power. And he was trying to get Jack on his side—which would become easier and easier as time would pass, since Pitch's body was a part of the shadows themselves... and they were eating Jack's consciousness up. He could feel it. He knew it. That was why he had almost lost it just now.

But how could he fight them? How could he tell the Guardians that he was Jack? Who could help him?

And then it struck him.

Jamie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pitch too, has some ajusting to do with Jack's body. But he isn't as innocent as the frost spirit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter in Pitch's POV \o/ Tell me if you like it!  
> Also, first chapter with "mature content" I ever wrote in English. Hope it's okay >_

How he longed for the boy. He wanted him to be his. His and his alone. But this... This was a half-assed solution to his problem. He only had the body, not the soul. It wasn't enough. It wasn't fulfilling. However, it still was better than nothing. He had always kept an eye on the boy, ever since he had been reborn as a frost spirit. That mischievous smile, that young insolence. Like a snow Peter Pan. When Pitch had been gaining new strength and mastering his nightmares, he had wondered if he should go and ask to boy to join him. But he was too independent, too proud. He had wanted to win alone and then invite the boy and make him his winter Persephone. That had been his downfall. The Man in the Moon must have sensed it and so made the boy a Guardian. Made him exactly the one who vanquished him. What a joke.

 But now, he was going to have his revenge. Actually, he had to set his priorities straight: what first? The boy? Revenge? Finally getting believed in—and feared, that was the best part? Hmm. Life was indeed made of tough choices. Well, he was already quite satisfied with how things went between the boy and the other Guardians. They were so easy to fool! Not to mention that nice trick with the mind-controlling snow. The boy didn't know his own powers! The believing part was down—for the moment. In Jack's body, he could feel the faith of all those fun-loving children. It was exhilarating, at the very least. Of course, once back in his own body—which would without a doubt happen—he'd have to find a way to gain their believing as the Boogeyman. But he didn't really worry about that. By the time he'd get his body back, the other tasks at hand would have necessarily been dealt with and so the Guardians would be out of the way, making everything much easier.

 Seeing as these two goals were already half-taken care of... well, at least, enough for now... He could concentrate on the boy. The kiss had seemed to unnerve him quite a lot. Was that a good or a bad thing? Pity the frost boy's powers didn't include mind-reading, would have been quite useful. But, oh well, he was quite readable, even without that. Meanwhile, he could experiment with his body. _That_ would be interesting. And a win-win situation: getting to know his weaknesses _and_ pleasuring himself.

 Making sure he was completely and utterly alone ind the middle of the toundra, he created a huge octagon out of ice around him, so that every surface of it reflected him. He could now observe the boy's body in every angle—a most satisfying situation. And now, the interesting part could begin.

 First, he set the staff on the ground. He wouldn't be needing it. And then, slowly, very slowly, he started undressing. It was difficult, considering how little clothes the boy usually wore: the blue sweater, the breeches and underclothes. But oh well, when the boy would be his, he'd get him to wear more interesting garments, too. For now, the sweater. He grabbed the hoodie and started pulling. The blue fabric started moving. Over the stomach, showing bit by bit of the snowy white skin, clinging to the “cheat muscles” of his skinny body. You could even see the lower ribs through the thin flesh, when he breathed in. Then came the nipples, with their delicate pink carnation, almost too colorful in contrast to his pale complexion. With a swift movement, he got rid of the sweater, leaving the boy's body topless. His hungry eyes roamed the jutting collarbones, the tender neck, the fragile arms. He stretched, moved, turned around. Oh, how he longed for that body. How he wanted it to be _his_. But not in that way. He wanted to be able to _consume_ it.

 He hesitated. Did he try discovering the sensitive parts of this sweet body now, or did he first undress completely? Hmm. No, he was too greedy. He wanted to see it all first. Tugging on the brown breeches, he pulled them down, exposing unexpectedly modern underpants, adorned with a snowflake pattern. So the centuries-old spirit had chosen comfort over tradition. Pitch understood. He didn't really have to worry about it, since his shadows usually garbed him, but the boy couldn't wander about dressed in rough material... or in ice. Even though he was pretty sure there could be interesting clothes to be made out of frozen water. But now was not the moment.

 No. Now, after getting rid of the underpants, he was admiring the wholly naked body of the boy. His appreciative glance went up and down, from the ruffled white hair, the dark, almost serious, eyebrows, to the sparkling eyes, thin nose and laughing mouth. The torso he had already considered, so his eyes went directly to the groin—first the one reflected in the ice, then the real one. His own excitation had brought the boy's cock to life, erecting it, making it bigger and harder. He would soon be caressing it, bringing himself relief and pleasure. But for now, he wanted to stay in control. Oh, how he would enjoy touching it when he'd be in _his_ body. The boy would squirm and beg, and he'd be so compliant, stroking and giving, but not enough, just not enough. The boy would have to beg and beg and beg for deliverance—and then Pitch would bestow it on him, with false reluctance. Oh, how he would revel in the boy's pleasure.

 With new interest, he looked at the reflection the ice walls gave him. The boy's back was straight and strong, his backbone like a necklace of fine pearls. But the most alluring part was the waist, the narrow hips, the firm buttocks. With an inquisitive hand, he stroked them, sighing with satisfaction when he discovered they were quite excitable. He would enjoy using them as a means to pleasure the boy.

 And so began a very slow exploration, touching every part of the boy's body to see which of them were the most erogenous. The ears—a little. The neck—quite a lot, there, just above the collarbones. Hmm, that would be a nice biting spot. But, back to the subject. The nipples—neither more nor less than the average. Perfect. Perhaps he could make that better with stud piercings? But not now—when they'd have swapped bodies, again. The stomach—unexpectedly sensitive. Nice piece of information. How about the thighs? Caressed in that way, just in the inside—there! Yes, that was noteworthy. The boy would _squirm_ in his hands. He was jubilating already.

 With a contended sign, he sat down on the icy floor, trying to ignore—for now—the throbbing in the boy's member. Patience, patience, he was almost there. The knees were a no-no. The feet were completely insensitive—even the arch. Too much running around barefooted. What a pity. The wrists however, seemed to be open to experiences. A wicked grin danced on his lips for a moment. He had to keep his imagination in check for the moment. All in good time, all in good time.

 Finally, with exaggerated slowness, he put a hand on his cock, stroking lightly, and then more and more insistently, his head full of images—of him, back in his body, pleasuring the boy, or having him in bonds, or having the boy pleasuring _him_ , with his mouth. Or discovering that very sweet secret between the buttocks. Soon enough heat came welling up, shattering his control over himself. But it was so difficult staying in check with such delightful ideas in mind. His movement accelerated, began to be almost erratic. Heat was encompassing him and he started sweating, despite all the ice around him. And finally his climax rolled over him, so very different from usual, but also so similar. Satisfying, in any case. More than satisfying.

 And so he lay down, watching the pitch black sky, utterly naked, white body on white ice, until his breathing started to slow down, started to come back to a normal rhythm.

 Now he knew _all_ of Jack's weaknesses, mental and physical.

 This was going to be fun.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack's only hope is Jamie... But will this hope be verified?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late - and short - chapter. Having some sort of an art block. I promise the next one will be better <3

Jack lost his balance and fell gracelessly. He hadn't expected that. As soon as he'd thought of Jamie, the shadows had swallowed him and spit him out in the boy's room in Burgess. Talk about another way of traveling. Well at least, that solved the problem of trying not to get caught while going there.

“Wh—wha?”

A light flicked on and a somewhat puzzled tween sat up in his bed. Jack retreated in the shadows, noting that he actually felt reassured by their presence. Was there no end to his surprises?

Jamie was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, trying to see what had awoken him, muttering under his breath.

“Not Easter nor Christmas, haven't lost any teeth in years, long past bedtime... and no golden sand anyway.”

His eyes were scanning the room. Jack felt an absurd pride swell in his chest. Jamie was _sure_ the intruder was one of the Guardians. How perspicacious of him! He saw hope flicker in the boy's eyes as he looked for clues of Jack's presence.

“No frost...” he however concluded, sadness in his voice.

With a pang of guilt, Jack realized his visits hadn't been all to regular. Now was the time to make amends.

“Hello, Jamie...”

Ugh. He hated it. He hated how sardonic and menacing his voice sounded. Well. It _wasn't_ his voice.

“Pitch? Pitch Black?”

It was more a squeak then an actual question.

“No. Even if I look like him... It's Jack Frost. I swear.”

He came out of the darkness, squinting in the electric light.

“No. No way. You're not Jack. But I'm not afraid of you.”

Jack chuckled—and regretted it immediately. The laughs this body produced could only pass as cynical, dangerous. But the sight of Jamie clutching his bunny plush while saying with all but conviction that he wasn't afraid was too amusing.

“Please, don't be! I'm really Jack! Remember when you were almost losing faith? I drew a bunny on your window with my frost, and made it appear, and it bounced in mid-air around you and exploded into snowflakes, and then you saw me! You were the first! My first believer! Please, don't let me down now! They've all let me down...”

He sighed deeply and fell on his knees, feeling disconsolate. There was no way Jamie was going to believe him, it was clear. What had he wanted to achieve in coming here? Scare the boy? Mix him up in a fight which wasn't his?

Suddenly, a hand was on his shoulder. He jumped, startled by the unexpected touch, remembering against his will the last touch he'd suffered—Pitch's kiss. In his body. Ew. Ew. Ew. But that wasn't the matter at hand. Jamie was standing beside him, a worried look on his face.

“Okay, okay, I believe you... Jack. I don't know what Pitch would get from me in letting me believe he was you, so I s'ppose it has to be you. … Right?”

The look on Jack's face must have been one of such gratefulness, which didn't go well with Pitch's austere features, that suddenly Jamie was giggling. His laughter, his glee filled the frost spirit with strength and warmth, repleting the gap that had slowly been growing inside of him, deprived of fun.

“Oh it _is_ you. Pitch would have _never ever ever_ made that face. Not even to lure me.”

He helped Jack back up on his feet and sat down on his bed, quickly joined by the spirit.

“What happened?”

“I don't even know. Y'know the guy in the moon? The one who revived me and made me a spirit and then appointed me a Guardian?”

Judging by the look on Jamie's face, he had never mentioned his past, nor the Man in the Moon. Oh well, now it was too late.

“Long story short, there's a guy living in the moon—”

“You mean _on_ the moon.”

“No, _in_ the moon. Well he's the one who created the Guardians to take care of the children. To bring wonder, hope, good memories, sweet dreams and fun into their lives. Even if the 'fun' part was only quite recent. But, oh well. In any case, he appointed me Guardian to help the other guys fight Pitch Black who had come back and wanted to scare every child on Earth. You know the rest.”

“Yeah.”

Jamie's eyes were shining with the sweet memory of their victory, of the Sandman's revival, of the huge and golden sand creatures which had roamed Burgess' streets that night.

“A few days ago I got a message from him.”

“From Pitch?”

“No-o. From the guy in the moon. He wanted me to bring Pitch to the Minotaur's Labyrinth.”

“Oh, so _that's_ why you asked me where it was.”

“Exactly.”

“And? What happened?”

“I managed to get him there, but the guy in the moon wasn't there. There were only three doors and he said we had to choose one and so we chose the first. And when I woke up I was in his body and he in mine.”

He looked at his hands, utterly miserable.

“Oh, Jamie, it's horrible. He's convinced the other Guardians that I'm lying, that it's a new ruse. He even got me to attack him so that he'd have proof. Toothiana came to _save_ him.”

“Like I'm here to save Jamie, you fiend.”

Startled, Jack and Jamie both looked up at the same instant, only to see Bunnymund, who had just jumped out of a hole.

“Don't listen to him, kid. He's full of lies.”

Jack was already standing.

“No, Bunny! I swear! It's me! It's Jack. Pitch set me up! I'm the one who helped you get on with Sophie! I swear!”

The Australian bunny seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then frowned again.

“Get away from the kid or it'll start being painful. For you.”

“But—”

“Go.”

Jamie stood up and went to the gigantic Easter bunny.

“I think he really _is_ Jack. You should listen to his side of the story.”

“No, kid. He almost attacked us. He attacked Jack.”

“But, if Pitch is in Jack's body, wouldn't it be _logical_ for him to want to restraint him?”

Bunny frowned once more.

“I don't like where you're going, kid. Are you sure you want to cooperate with the Nightmare King?”

Jamie stood between them, unsure. Bunnymund pulled his boomerang out, showing his intent. With a sigh, Jack stood up.

“It's okay, Jamie. Thanks for sticking up for me. Please don't lose faith in any of us, we'll be needing it.”

“Certainly not you!” roared Bunny, aiming at Jack.

But he had already disappeared in the shadows.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has... nightmares?  
> And all the while, Pitch goes on with his diabolical plan...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the looooong wait. Long story short, I was deprived of my computer for two weeks and then had to organize my move, so... no time to write!  
> Hope this chapter will make things better! And the next ones won't be so long, I promise <3

Helpless and hopeless, Jack had found no solace in his solitude. He didn't want to interact with the nightmares – they reminded him too much of Pitch and his cunning. He didn't go out of the cave he had selected as refuge, because of its beautiful subterranean lake, but he didn't approach the water anymore, fearful of his own reflection. He hated it. He hated seeing Pitch's leer instead of his cocky grin. He hated the darkness woven around him. He hated the loneliness. He hated the fear he couldn't help but feel. But most of all, he hated the sadness which had washed over him, again and again, until he'd drunken it, inhaled it, drowned in it. Now, this sadness, the antithesis of his centre, was numbing his head and heart, was depriving him of... Of what? The meaning of his existence? Pretty much that, in fact. He felt like he was disappearing, turning back to nothingness, because what can the Guardian of Fun do when he isn't even able to fathom the slightest hint of joy anymore?

And if that had been everything. But it wasn't. His loneliness, his... he had to face it: his despair had led to a moping attitude, and even though, as an immortal, he hadn't slept in centuries – so much mischief to sow, so much fun to reap – he now found himself more often than not dozing off, half-sitting. He would then wake up with a start, feeling the sadness numbing him even more – and his muscles or rather Pitch's muscles protesting against the uncomfortable position he had been sleeping in.

However, the Sandman didn't feed his dreams and Jack was tempted to qualify them as nightmares. But that would have been absurd. Right now, he was the only one wielding the power of fear and bad dreams. How could anyone else be interfering with his?

And yet, he didn't see how else his dreams could be understood. They were certainly not pleasant. Not remotely. And he always woke up drenched in cold sweat, shuddering. And still, that wasn't the worst.

No. The dreams were horrible enough. It was always the same thing: he was back in his body, which was the only good thing about the dreams. He was himself again, the smiling frost spirit and not the gloomy Boogeyman. That said, it didn't mean every thing was perfect. No. His oneiric self stood in the darkness. Some times he almost recognized the place as Pitch's lair, others as his secret grotto. But most of the time, he only saw darkness. He'd clutch his staff as if his life depended on it, but his grip always lost its strength, until he only barely held to his totem. But it wasn't because of fear or sadness. He knew it. And still, he didn't know what his dream-self felt. Was it expectation? Anger? Hopelessness? Or... nothing at all? He didn't know. However often he dreamed that dream, he didn't know what his emotions were. Which was pretty much terrifying considering what happened then.

Pitch would then appear in the darkness, him too his former self, draped in shifting shadows, an intoxicatingly sweet smile dancing on his so very thin lips.

“Come”, he'd say, his voice velvety and beguiling. “Come, Jack.”

And Jack would meet his gaze, slowly and pointedly.

“Come to me, my Fearling Prince.”

And Jack would go to him and give him his hand.

Usually, he woke up when their hands touched, startled by the too-real sensation. But sometimes – he shuddered – sometimes, the nightmare would go on. He would take the ashen hand, letting their palms meet, his, cold yet soft, and Pitch's, warmer but dry. His grip was surprisingly gentle, but not without force. He'd give the lightest of pulls and Jack'd let himself fall against him, even though he could have easily kept his balance. He'd then clutch the Nightmare King, let himself melt in his embrace – melt! Ridiculous! Or rather... terrifying. And yet, worst was still to come. Jack would look up to Pitch, meet his gaze again... and then... Then... they kissed.

At that part, he always woke up, unable to go on sleeping, shivering and tense, feeling Pitch's lips against him, his warmth, his desire, the tender strength of his grip... It was... frightening, not to know what he felt. And even more considering that he didn't know the nature of these images.

And that still wasn't the worst. The worst were the voices. Usually a female voice, but sometimes whole choruses, whispering around. “Give in”, they urged, “give in, give iiiin, giiiiive iiiiiin”, they ululated with the wind, who had used to be his friend and now only tormented him.

Jack was no idiot and he was starting to wonder if these non-dreams, these non-nightmares weren't... visions. Visions of the future, no less. Or of Pitch's desires. Or—he didn't even want to think about it—of his own desires.

No. It wasn't possible. It wasn't true. It wasn't. It couldn't.

He had to find out.

With a deep sign, he pictured Sandy and waited for the shadows to bring him to the golden man. He appeared behind the little man, hidden in a dark corner. Night was falling and the Guardian of Dreams was busy distributing his golden sand. Oh well, he was in no rush anyway. He'd wait. And so he waited. And waited. And still Sandy was giving form to his sand. Why was he taking so long?

Jack hesitated and then decided to try again later. He didn't want to seem to be attacking the Sandman. And so he teleported back to his dear cave. The nightmares whinnied happily at his appearance, which was unusual enough for him to give them a second glance.

He froze. Something was wrong. Not only their happiness and eagerness to see him again. No, there was something else. They... no. How could it be possible? They were more numerous than after the body exchange. And they seemed less skeletal, much more well-fed.

Jack bit his lip. How long had he been moping around? Weeks, at least. Perhaps even months. He had lost all notion of time, sitting in the darkness, trying to shut out the visions and the voices and still regularly falling asleep, exhausted. Deprived of fun, he had been losing his strength, his power, his essence.

But he had been alone. What had happened outside?

He journeyed again to Sandy. The little man was still morphing his sand. Jack followed on of the golden tendrils into a room—and let out a cry of surprise. The dreamsand was being given to adults, not children. And the children—they were sitting on their parents' beds, wailing and crying, sleep-deprived, without comfort.

He transported himself in front of the Sandman, only to find out that his eyes were glassy, lifeless. He didn't even know what he was doing anymore.

What exactly had Pitch been doing this whole time? Apart from using Jack's fun snow as a means to control the other Guardians?

And if Sandy had succumbed, what had become of the others? North, Tooth and Bunny. And Jamie, of course.

He asked the shadows to send him to the Christmas Guardian, only to face a giant robot toy, as tall as a skyscraper, walking around town, destroying everything in its way. Yetis were marching in military rows, carrying toy weapons that scarily looked like real ones. People were running away screaming, adults and kids. North was piloting the giant robot-toy, grinning like a madman. Which he seemed pretty much to have become.

Another trip, and he witnessed Bunny stealing a little girl's candy.

“Mine”, he gruffly said, snatching the precious chocolate from her grip. She started crying.

Around them, Bunnymund's giant eggs were stealing all the chocolate and eggs they could find, stepping on things and people alike.

And Tooth? Tooth had gone on a teeth-pulling rampage, leaving sobbing children in her wake, their gums bloody and their mouths aching.

When he finally materialized in Jamie's room, he was greeted by a kitchen knife flying in his direction. He deflected it at the last second.

“You _must_ be Pitch or else you wouldn't have let all this happen!”

He was angry and frustrated, tears welling in his eyes.

“My parents have been sleeping for two weeks and Sophie's teeth were all forcefully removed by Tooth. What have you done to them?”

“That's what I'd like to know”, answered Jack. “I've been moping around... I didn't know Pitch could do anything like that with my powers...”

Jamie sighed and let himself fall on his bed. He hunched his shoulders, a look of utter misery on his face. At least, he seemed to believe him.

“You have to make it right, Jack.”

“I know.”

“You have to find a way to swap bodies again.”

“I know.”

“You have to find a way to cure the other Guardians.”

“I know.”

“You have to bring fun back, Jack. You have to.”

“I will, Jamie, I will.”

“But how?”

Without answering, Jack disappeared in the shadows again. He feared he knew only too well what he'd have to do.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has some matters to discuss with Pitch... but how well will the negociations go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give up. I'm not one to write regularly. I can't make schedules, I just can't hold them... Sooo, my rhythm will stay as erratic as it is. (I'm definitely not giving up on this fic! I have so many ideas for the other two doors, hehehehehe.)  
> Aaaaand! This is my first attempt at smut! Please tell me what you've thought of it <3  
> Still not a native English speaker, so your corrections are very welcome.  
> And thanks for all the kudos, each one of them makes my stomach flutter *^* Please comment, it means the world to me :3  
> Hope you like this chapter :p

“Come to me, my Fearling Prince.”

And then they were kissing, Pitch's lips tenderly crushing Jack's, his arms holding him tight, so tight, so, so tight.

“You've made me wait, Jack. Why would you do that?”

The frost spirit hesitated. Why indeed? What had prevented him from giving in to absolute pleasure earlier? He didn't know any more. But the Nightmare King seemed to be waiting for an answer and that wasn't going well with Jack's need to kiss him again.

“Well...”

What to say that wouldn't vex him?

“I was wondering how long I could resist.”

Pitch gave a hearty chuckle.

“Oh course you did.”

But he still leaned forward and caught his lips again, a little harshly perhaps, but never forceful. Now wasn't the time to see how long he could wait, so Jack parted ever so slightly his lips—an invitation. Pitch's tongue darted in between almost immediately, gushing heat into Jack's cold mouth. He had been waiting for an authorization. Jack felt his insides melt as their tongues twisted and fought—but the struggle didn't last long and became a messy, hungry kiss.

When it stopped, Jack was breathless, his cheeks flushed. He wanted more, he needed more. He already felt his own hardness, imprisoned within the fabric of his boxers. Although he yearned to free it, he didn't. First, he wanted to make sure that Pitch was also enjoying this.

His hands were on the boogeyman's waist. Getting one to his crotch wasn't too hard—whereas what he found there was. Hard and warm, even through the fabric. With a gleeful smile, he started stroking Pitch's member, through the robes and trousers, his gaze never leaving the king's eyes. After a first second of surprise, he had smiled, fondly patting his prince's head, an appreciative expression settling on his face. He didn't even seem to react when Jack pushed away the robes and freed his erection from his pants. Bigger than his own, of the same grey complexion as Pitch's face, it twitched a little in Jack's hand, making him smile yet again—but this time with desperate want.

Without warning, he knelt, and his hand abandoned its stroking, only serving as an assistance to his mouth, to his tongue. He started by giving it a tentative lick, glancing up at his king, who gave a crooked smile and nodded. He could go on. He licked again, dragging his icy tongue from the base to the head, feeling Pitch's warmth burning him. More. He needed more. With a shiver of anticipation, he opened his mouth and rested his king's cock on his tongue, savouring its weight and warmth. And then he started to suck.

He had no idea how to do this. He hadn't died a virgin, of course, but had only slept with a few girls from his village—no guys, MiM bless him. He only knew what would please _him_ and had to use his imagination to reproduce what he would long for. From Pitch's expression, he wasn't doing it completely wrong—perhaps even the contrary. Soon his king's hands were in his hair, just a presence, never trying to take control, leaving Jack free to do what he wanted with his mouth, his head bobbing more or less regularly.

But when Pitch's hands tensed in his hair, he gave up and let himself be guided. With a grunt, the boogeyman came into his mouth and Jack made sure he swallowed every single drop, despite the unexpected taste of the black semen.

By now, his body was reminding him of his own state and, still licking his lips, he looked up at Pitch. He wanted relief too.

“What is it, Jack?” the Nightmare King teased, but the prince's expression must have been too pleading, too sweet for him not to grant him what he wanted.

He bent forwards and whispered into Jack's ear, making him shiver uncontrollably, again.

“You can jerk yourself off for me, then.”

The say-so was enough for him, and he started caressing himself, looking deep into his king's golden eyes, his breath hitching every now and then. He was already so close that within a very short time he was on the verge of pleasure—and then, with a moan that sounded suspiciously close to “Piiitch”, he came.

And woke up with a start, drenched in cold sweat.

This.

This.

This was by far the worse dream he'd had.

And _how_ could he have such a dream after the conversation—or rather the quarrel—he'd had with Pitch? Nothing then had been in the slightest sexy or arousing—especially considering he had been screaming at his own body.

After he'd left Jamie, he'd went looking for the Nightmare King. It hadn't been too difficult: he'd only had to follow the blizzard, to get to its centre, where, laughing maniacally, Pitch had been dancing around in his body.

“Pitch!” he had called at the top of his lungs. “Pitch! Stop this! Now!”

He had landed in front of him, letting the snow and ice thrash wildly around them, the maddened winds making his shadow-robes billow and harden with frost.

“Why, Jack, why? This is so much _fun_.”

He had cocked his head to the side, a wicked grin distorting his features. Jack hoped that when he had been in his own body, he'd never worn that expression. It was horrible—all the more as his face seemed made for joyful smiles, not this mockery of the Joker's grin.

“No, Pitch, this isn't fun, it's terrifying!”

His smile widened, contrasting with his cold, calculating gaze.

“Why, Jack, I thought you had a memory—something to help you remember what I feed off? Even in this body... I'd never thought it could be so _easy_ to scare people. It's a whole new sort of feast I enjoy now—fear mingled with broken trust. Ah, so sweet, so sweet...”

Jack was trembling with rage.

“How dare you! What have you done to the others?”

At that, Pitch took off again and sat down on Jack's staff, in mid-air, looking completely and utterly bored.

“Oh. The Guardians. They didn't even pose a real challenge. It was too easy, you know? But perhaps it's your handy snowball magic's fault, eh? I never knew you were so powerful, Jack. You should have used that on me, when you had the chance.”

Jack scowled. He only used his magic snowballs to _convince_ people to have fun. He didn't even know they had the power to _convince_ people of anything else. But even if he'd known he'd never have used it that way.

“No. I'm not like you.”

Pitch sighed.

“Pity. It was so easy telling Sandy that adults needed more sleep than children—what with their stressful lives and so. And they didn't need to wake up. Ah, the children's misery, their wails, their horrible fear that their parents will never wake again—too delicious. I trust my mares are well fed?”

Jack spluttered but didn't manage a single word.

“And poor Bunny. Did you know eating chocolate made him lose his head? A wondrous discovery. Even easier to convince that he'd been bereft of what was rightfully his: chocolate and eggs. I suppose you've seen the children's despair, their fright at the sight of the attacking kangaroo and his soldier eggs? A sight to tear hope right of your heart, right?”

Jack hadn't been able to answer, biting on his own tongue. This was all his fault. _Why_ had he listened to the Man in the Moon's advice? Why?

“Tooth and North—now _that_ was something. I just had to steal all her precious teeth and fairies again... and tell her that she absolutely _needed_ teeth to survive, so why not go get some new ones... and without waiting for them to be ripe. She's like a mad dentist now—I can still hear the children's screams. _That_ will scar their memories, I can assure you. All traumatized! And North... I just told him to lash out, like when he was a brigand, long ago. I believe he's having fun, now. You should be happy.”

This time, Jack had found his tongue.

“How could I be happy when you destroy everything you touch? Why do you _do_ this? Giving children nightmares was bad enough—and could have been tolerated, if you'd kept it to a minimum. But this, this... This is madness!”

“Oh, but hadn't you heard, Jack? The Guardians didn't even want me to _exist_. I wasn't to be _believed_ in. I had to stay hidden and not disrupt their perfect universe, their perfect world with happy, laughing children, filled with dreams, wonder, hope and gleeful memories. Fear can be good sometimes, you know, Jack? Fear can be useful. It's fear that tells children to scream and run away when a paedophile comes near them. It's fear that warns them not to get too close to the edge of the cliff. It's fear that tells them not to step on thin ice.”

Once again, Jack hadn't known what to say, what to answer. Was that true? If his sister had been afraid sooner—if _he_ had known fear... Perhaps...

He'd winced.

“I get it Pitch. I understand. I'm sure everyone will understand. Please, will you stop this madness now?”

His own body had leered at him.

“No way. I'm having too much _fun_.”

And he'd flown away, leaving Jack to his miseries.

Back in his cave, he'd fallen into a fitful slumber, the voices urging him to “give in” even more. And now this. This. This _nightmare_.

Well.

At least it had given him an idea.

 


End file.
